Earlier that same night, Peter found himself feeling conflicted as well. The day had left him with the sensation of being both rattled and annoyed, despite the good outcome on the case. After all, reaching the stage of a case that included a suspect in custody was usually an indication of a closure in sight and would be a cause for celebration. However, this time those details were buried behind other more persistent (and aggravating) thoughts running through his mind.

He was at least thankful upon returning home to find the neighbors had canceled their plans to come over. El was disappointed, and while he offered her feigned disappointment as well, he was not and was sure she could see through it. It was a small blessing, since he knew he wouldn't have made a very good host that evening and wouldn't have enjoyed trying.

So instead of thinking about the apprehended suspect and next steps in the case like he typically would, Peter found himself physically and emotionally exhausted, focused on second-guessing his approach with Neal.

The image of Neal inserting himself into the takedown of the primary suspect replayed in his mind, climaxing in a spray of bullets that appeared just moments later only a handful of feet away. Even in replay, the mixed feelings of dread that felt like being punched in the gut and anger at direct orders being disregarded filled him with uneasiness.

He was thinking about this at the dinner table, feeling his blood pressure ebb and flow, as he forcefully stabbed his fork through a piece of cucumber in the salad in front of him. He raised the fork to his mouth, going through the motions of eating as he remained deep in thought. As he crunched on that piece of salad distractedly, he jabbed his utensil into his bowl again with similar force.

Why was it so hard for Neal to just follow the rules?

"Hon… Are you mad at your salad, or at Neal?" El asked with what appeared to be slight amusement.

Peter allowed a small smile as he looked up at his wife. She sat across from him at their dining table, eyebrows raised and a sparkle in her eye.

"You can tell I'm still mad?" he asked with a small sigh.

"Uh, yeah…" she responded, tone a little sarcastic. "You think it's not obvious?" She gave him a pointed look. "Not only have you not even registered a word I've said since we sat down, but you've been slamming and jabbing things ever since you got home. Speaking of which… No offense, but you've gotta find a better way to get your frustrations out."

"Before coming home you mean," he said slowly, stating the unspoken aspect of her assertion.

"I don't mean it that way," she replied. "My point is that you're clearly more stressed out than usual recently. But yes, it would be nice if you didn't bring all of that home with you…"

He sighed, setting down his fork and sitting back against his chair. "I know," he admitted. He felt a surge of guilt course through him. He never intended to let his stress at the office cast a shadow over his time at home. He felt strongly about that.

"It's okay," she said quickly at his change in posture. "Look, I get it. Work is different for you now. More responsibility. A specific responsibility."

"Yeah, but it's been a few months…" he replied, rubbing a hand along his jaw. "Not that long but enoughtime that I thought it would get easier. He just seems determined not to let that happen."

"Don't say that…" El started with a slightly chiding tone. "From my perspective, you have just as many good days as frustrating with him… You just tend to fixate on the bad ones, Peter. Give it time, and it'll start to be more good than bad."

"You think so?" Peter replied, frowning slightly. "You know, Reese warned me it would be like this. Before I signed those papers, he asked if I was sure and said something along the lines of 'prepare yourself to never sleep restfully again.' And it's not that I didn't believe him…"

El simply chuckled a bit and reached for her glass of wine. "Right…"

"Maybe I was a little overconfident," Peter admitted. "I figured, what could be so hard? Set rules. Set the consequences. Keep him busy. And let him learn." His brow furrowed. "I just don't know if he's learning."

"He is."

He rolled his eyes. "El, you don't work with him daily. You see him when he's here on his best behavior charming you for a free meal."

"I'm pretty sure he doesn't come here for the meals, Peter…" she replied with a small shake of her head. "And you know that too."

"Well, still. You've never seen him when he's in the field with me on days like today. Pushing every button I have."

"Peter, don't forget the other times when you've raved about how brilliant he is… There's been quite a few of those days too. In fact, remember last week? You spent the whole evening telling me how brilliant he is."

He shook his head, unconvinced. "Not today. There was nothing brilliant today."

"Well even so…" She ran her finger along the rim of her wine glass. "From what you described to me, Peter, it doesn't sound like he was actually trying to push your buttons..."

"No?" Peter asked, tone a bit exasperated. "Then what was he doing? Simply trying to get himself killed?"

"No," she said firmly. "It actually sounded like he was trying to help."

"Help? Yeah right," Peter replied sarcastically. "How, El? By doing exactly what I told him not to? That's a big help."

"Helping in his own way, Hon. Maybe he's just not used to operating with boundaries."

"Well, that's pretty damn obvious. I figured that out on day one."

She gave him a look. "Did you tell him why you wanted him to stay back?" she challenged. She swirled the wine in her glass as she spoke. "Or did you just tell him to do it?"

"What's the difference? He doesn't need to know why," Peter replied, a little bitterly. "He just needs to listen. Your boss tells you to do something, and you do it. Period."

"That's not completely true, Hon…" El replied slowly. "Everyone should know why they're being asked to do something. Otherwise, they're no different than sheep. What are they learning from blindly listening?"

"Clearly nothing, since he isn't even listening."

She sighed at her husband's frustration.

"Rank and order…" Peter said, stabbing at his salad again.

El rolled her eyes slightly at him as she simply replied, "So just try it next time."

Peter looked up. "Try what?"

"Try to explain your reason for asking him to do whatever it is." She watched her husband as she spoke and predicting his next statement, continued, "And yes, even on a crime scene, Peter. You can make it brief. Clearly just asking isn't getting through."

Peter exhaled slowly. "First of all, I'm not really asking him to do something, El. I'm telling him. And second, he should know it's because he can get hurt otherwise. He's not a trained agent. He just doesn't seem to care. The last case? Did I tell you about that?" He shook his head as the scene he was about to mention came to mind, the picture of it as vivid as though it had also happened that same day. "He didn't want to lose track of the guy we were tailing. But this guy was getting further and further ahead of us. I told Neal to wait, and that we'd have another chance to catch up to him. But no. Didn't listen. Took off and ran across West Broadway against the light, dodging cars left and right like an idiot." He took a deep breath. "Jones called him Frogger the rest of the day. He didn't even seem phased."

"You did tell me," she replied, raising her eyebrows at the briefer account of the occurrence that she'd already heard about. She remembered Peter's rant that night. "But if I recall the rest of the story, wasn't it because he stayed on him that you were able to get the images of that guy making an exchange that day?"

"That's his side of the story and not the point," Peter said with exasperation. He frowned. "Besides. We would have gotten that anyway. It was inevitable. The guy had an obvious pattern."

"I'm sure…. But as frustrating as it is, Hon…" El continued, "…I see a theme. Sounds like he had the case in mind each time he acted."

"It doesn't matter if it's got to do with the case, El. Either way he didn't listen to me, he took unnecessary risk, and that doesn't work with me." He raised his eyebrows as he reached for his own glass of wine. "And are you defending him?" he asked skeptically.

"No, I'm not," she replied. "You're not wrong to be angry, but I do think that you should keep in mind that he's actually doing something for the case, Peter. Even you have to admit that it's just a little bit different than when you've been mad about him going behind your back or lying to you for self-interested reasons…"

"A little different," Peter echoed skeptically.

"It is, Peter…" She frowned at him, raising her eyebrows. "Don't even pretend it's not."

Peter simply stabbed his fork into his salad again. "When do I pretend?"

"Not enough," she replied. She then gave a quick smirk as Peter looked up at her with narrowed eyes.

"Really?" Peter rolled his eyes in response.

"Get back on topic, mister… I thought we were talking about Neal," El replied, smile lingering. She then grew more serious. "He should listen to you," she persisted, letting out a soft sigh. "Just make sure he knows why. From my perspective, this kind of partnership is a new thing for him. And it takes time. He's used to looking out for only himself based on his rules. Consider that, will you? Do me that favor."

"Let's not have you talking favors and my CI in the same sentence," Peter replied. "You're already getting soft."

"Me?" She let out an audible laugh. "Really?"

"Really…" He raised an eyebrow. "I told you that you'd be the first to break. I knew it, that first morning he came over here…"

"First to break…?" she echoed, laughing a bit. "With Neal?"

"Uh-huh…" he persisted. "Like I said. You get the con side of him. He's conning you."

"Conning me…"

"Yup."

"And what side of him do you get?"

"The pain in the ass side," Peter responded, lips curving upwards into a slight smirk. "And let's change the subject," he suggested. "Neal's taken over enough of our dinner conversations recently."

"That he has…" She smiled. "Okay, you want to change the subject?" She raised her eyebrows and gave him a look. "Then let's get back to my original topic; the one you weren't listening to. I have another dinner party coming up…"

"Another?" Peter groaned slightly, though lightheartedly and more for show. "Really? Didn't you just plan one?"

"Really. And you've known about this one, Peter… For at least two weeks."

"Fine," he answered begrudgingly. "What do you need me to do?"

She smiled. "There we go. Here comes the start of a real conversation."

"I think I'd rather talk about Neal…" Peter said dryly, though the edges of his mouth curved upward again in a smile. "Go ahead, Hon. I'm listening this time."

An evening of restless sleep passed and in the morning, Neal didn't feel much better.

He awoke to aching joints and most notably a persistent pain in his ankle. As he again tested it, moving it back and forth while laying stationary in bed, he had to frown. It didn't feel right. Still, despite that lingering pain, he continued to hope it to be temporary.

Swinging his legs to the side of his bed, he stared down at his feet. What he saw caused him to sigh.

The ankle was clearly swollen. It wasn't just the side-by-side comparison that made that obvious to him. It was also the tracking anklet, which had grown incredibly snug over the course of the night.

Now, if possible, he felt even more stupid and foolish than he had the previous night. Climbing had been a fun relief at first, a welcome distraction at the end of an already disappointing and miserable day. It had liberated him from what was otherwise simply a house arrest. But instead of giving him the release he'd been looking for, it had resulted in an embarrassing and painful ending. A disappointing final chapter to a twenty-four hours he wished to erase.

As he climbed to his feet, he tested his weight on the ankle tentatively. It certainly hurt, perhaps even more than the previous night, but he supposed it was bearable. He could walk on it…

Moving more slowly than usual through his apartment, Neal went through his normal morning routine in the mundane motions of getting ready for work. A hot shower wasn't as relaxing as usual and walking made him wince. The few aspirin he'd popped before the shower didn't yet seem to be taking effect either.

As he hobbled around the apartment, he briefly considered calling in sick to work. He then quickly decided against it, dismissing the tempting idea. Peter would be skeptical. There had been nothing physically wrong with him yesterday. Peter would simply think he was trying to get out of paperwork or was making some sort of protest. It was very likely that his handler was still angry from yesterday, and wouldn't have much sympathy for a sick day request. In afterthought, Neal also realized he preferred not to spend the day alone. After ending the prior day in silent treatment, he did want to try to repair his status with Peter.

As for disclosing the injury… It didn't feel like an option. There was no way he could give Peter a good explanation for what had happened while on house arrest. He needed to gain points, not lose more.

So after slowly making his way downstairs, and then spending a few minutes chatting with June over a cup of coffee as though nothing was wrong, Neal made it into the office care of a taxi.

Walking was painful, so he was admittedly relieved when he finally made it to his desk and was able to sit down. Once seated, he stretched his ankle out underneath the furniture, hidden out of sight, wincing slightly as his joints painfully protested the movement.

He then eyed the very thick pile of folders on his desk, which hadn't been there when he left the previous day. It was very likely a gift from Peter, threat delivered as promised.

He glanced upward towards his handler's office and sighed, though for the first time he could recall, he actually didn't mind being sentenced to a day of paperwork. He didn't want to move and having an excuse to be unusually quiet at his desk was a relief and convenience. He hadn't even detoured for a coffee that morning, preferring to limit his steps to only those absolutely necessary, prioritizing this even above his usual morning caffeine indulgence. He rationalized the one cup at June's could suffice for today.

He was determined to make it through the day with limited movement, focused on the files that had been assigned to him.

However, the ironic relief of paperwork only lasted for about an hour before he found himself being beckoned to Peter's office.

The call came first as a sharp whistle from above the bullpen, which he found himself looking up at instinctively, before then cursing silently for allowing himself to respond to a summons akin to what Peter might use with Satchmo. The whistle was then followed by that classic two-finger point summons once Peter had his attention, and Neal found himself with a frown reluctantly pushing his chair back. So much for not moving.

Acting like nothing was wrong was no challange for Neal, so despite the strong objection his ankle gave to walking normally without favoring his weight to his uninjured side, he made his way confidently to Peter's office determined not to show a limp.

"Peter," he greeted with a bright smile as he entered the office. His handler was now standing by the side of his desk, back turned to him.

"Hey, Neal," Peter responded as he turned around. He gave him a tight smile in return and gestured towards one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Sit."

Sit, Neal repeated in his mind. Another Satchmo interaction. Without complaining, he moved to do so. His aching ankle thanked him as he took a seat, the weight on the joint alleviated once again.

"So… No more silent treatment?" Neal asked lightly, alluding to their last formal interaction when Peter had dropped him off at home the day before. He kept up his smile, despite his resentment of the silent treatment. He'd never admit it, but he hated that more than the lectures.

Peter simply raised his eyebrows. "You should be happy I chose silent treatment yesterday versus what I really wanted to do to you."

Neal swallowed, smile faltering just slightly as he leaned back into his chair as casually as he could. "Okay… Fair. On occasion I suppose I can take silent treatment."

"Good choice. But listen, Neal…" Peter started slowly. "I do want to talk about yesterday."

Neal internally winced. He sensed another sermon coming. Wasn't Peter's tirade the day before enough? He tried to mask the look of repugnance he felt arriving to his face. "Yesterday," he echoed monotonously, tone void of emotion. "But didn't we do this already, Peter?"

"Yeah," Peter answered. "We did. But maybe not the right way." He cleared his throat, moving from the side of his desk to the front, getting closer to Neal and leaning back to sit against the wooden fixture. "Yesterday… We can both agree that I got pretty mad…. Do you understand why?"

Neal paused. That was his opening line? Was that a trick question? Peter's delivery was calm and the tone seemed sincere, but this was starting out to be a very different discussion than usual. He rarely opened with a question. Unsure of where Peter was going with this, he tried to avoid frowning and quickly recalibrated. He decided to go for the answers that his handler was likely looking for.

"You were mad because I didn't do what you suggested," he admitted without hesitation. Wasn't that the crux of Peter's prior day reprimand? He wasn't going to try to change the facts. "When you told me to stay back."

"It wasn't a suggestion," Peter replied, tone sounding a bit weary. "You thought it was a suggestion?"

"No," Neal responded quickly, realizing his mistake. He sensed a potential turn in the calmness of his handler and again recalibrated. "I didn't do what you told me to do," he corrected. "It wasn't a suggestion."

"Right," Peter acknowledged, slowing folding his arms across his chest. He eyed Neal carefully. "But do you actually understand why you not listening made me particularly mad? In that specific instance?"

Neal was fairly sure he could guess why. He knew Peter enough at this point. And he also didn't want to belabor the conversation, so while his instinct was to explore a queue of more lighthearted responses that came to mind, he resisted. As much as he was ready to get back to his normal rapport with Peter, he knew the man wasn't there yet. So he kept to the script he knew Peter was trying to follow in a hope he could rush it along. "The guns," he replied mechanically. "He was armed." It was easy to give answers to a quiz that Peter had berated him with the answers to multiple times the day before.

"Yes," Peter replied, nodding slightly. He paused, as though surprised or caught off guard at Neal's direct candidness rather than objections or defense. "You ran directly into the crossfire, Neal." His tone remained calm as the reprise of the prior day lecture seemed to begin. "And I don't care that his gun was still holstered when you moved in. It doesn't matter. You're not an agent. That's not what your role is. You don't go playing hero. Understand?"

"I'm not an agent," Neal repeated dully. People here seemed to like to remind him of that fact. "That's not my role." He recalled how he felt during the previous day. Frustrated was an understatement. That feeling was coming back.

Peter didn't seem to notice the apathy of his response and continued to speak. "You have to understand that if I tell you to do something, it's for a reason, Neal," Peter continued. "Yesterday, I felt like you constantly ignored what I told you to do."

"I didn't, Peter," Neal objected. "I just—"

"No, let me finish," Peter interjected, raising a hand to quiet him. "That's how it felt, but I've been thinking about that too. Maybe I didn't do a good job of explaining to you why I tell you to do things a certain way."

Why? The words echoed in his head, and now Neal couldn't stop the frown that formed on his face. What was this? He wasn't even sure how to respond. He'd expected to be reprimanded, with a repeated list of everything he had done wrong, and had prepared to simply act apologetic. And if this was a precursor to that next stage, then he just wanted to get it over with. He glanced behind himself at the door fleetingly before returning his eyes upward to meet Peter's brown stare. "You explained, Peter," he assured his handler quickly with forced sincerity. "I understood."

"I know you were trying to help," Peter continued. He paused. "Even when you stupidly put yourself in harm's way." His brow furrowed slightly. "But here's the thing. Believe it or not, part of my responsibility in this arrangement is to keep you safe… And when you put yourself in the line of fire, like you did yesterday, it undermines that part of the job." He paused. "That's why you've got to listen to me. We're a team. We're not all individuals out there."

"I know," Neal responded, nodding.

"Neal, you say that… And I've spent the last few months trying to teach you that. But yesterday you disobeyed a direct order that had no room for interpretation and walked into a live crime scene. You can't do that. What is there to misinterpret about 'stay back'?"

Neal shifted in his seat, resisting the urge to fidget further. "I didn't mean to do that," he began. Then he shook his head. "I mean, I meant what I did, but I didn't mean to go against you. And I told you yesterday - it won't happen again." Neal acknowledged Peter sounded much calmer than yesterday, and appreciated that. He wanted nothing more than to move on from this, and for this not to turn into yesterday's more heated discussion. Stay on script, he told himself. Meanwhile, his ankle silently throbbed.

Peter continued, "Neal, this isn't the first conversation we've had like this. We go through this same song and dance, and I try a different way of getting through to you, and then a week passes, and you do the same damn thing on a different case... Remember what you did last case?"

Neal objected, "But yesterday was different. They didn't see him, and I needed to get his attention before he –"

"No," Peter interjected, shaking his head. "It's not different. You need to get that. No more hero complex. That's not your role. Why do I have to keep repeating that?" He took a deep breath and shook his head. "Neal, we could be having this discussion in a hospital right now. Or I could be having this conversation with a body bag. You were literally inches from the crossfire. Do you not realize how dangerous that was?"

"Probably as dangerous as your driving yesterday."

"Neal," Peter snapped, frowning irritably. "This isn't a joke."

"Sorry," Neal replied, pressing his lips together. He frowned. So much for staying on script.

"You could have been killed. And instead of realizing that, yesterday you made a joke about creating more paperwork and now you're joking again. Last time, it was the same thing but with three lanes of traffic. Before that was the incident with the fire escape. Do you see the pattern that I have an issue with?"

"Okay," Neal responded. He didn't know the right response, and didn't want to risk the wrong one. In his mind, risk was correlated to reward. In tracking down criminals, there was always going to be an element of danger. Even in White Collar. But he couldn't express that. Not now. Agreeing with Peter seemed safe. He regretted the paperwork quip from the previous day, but also still thought it was applicable. Peter frequently accused him of creating more paperwork.

"Okay?" Peter echoed, raising his eyebrows. "That's it? 'Okay'?"

"I don't know what you want me to say," Neal started slowly, responding honestly. "I do get it."

"I want to make sure you really get it. I don't want to do this again."

"Then we won't," Neal replied, tone a little stiff. It felt like a lie. He knew he had a job to do. On the job, he would react if and when he felt the action was warranted and in the best interest of the case. He couldn't just stay on the sidelines. If he did that, he was useless. Useless meant no more deal. No more deal meant prison. But he knew he couldn't say all of that that. However, his next words he felt compelled to ask. "But this case, and the last— Didn't I help?"

Taking a deep breath before responding, Peter shifted his stance slightly, repositioning himself against the desk. In doing so, his foot briefly connected with Neal's injured one, and while it was a fleeting contact, Neal found himself swallowing back a hiss of pain. It lasted just a brief second before he could restore his cover and be stoic again.

Peter didn't miss it. He stared at Neal with new intensity. "Hey. What was that?" he asked.

"Nothing." Neal suppressed any reaction to the jarring pain he now felt in his throbbing ankle. Focus, Caffrey, he told himself. He barely bumped into you. Pull yourself together and stay on the damn script so you can get back to your desk. "You startled me."

As Peter studied him suspiciously, Neal suddenly realized the question he had just asked was not going to be answered. The window was gone. Had he been helpful at all? He wouldn't know. Was he in negative point territory? He now regretted his comment about Peter's driving.

"I startled you, " Peter repeated back the words skeptically as he frowned. "Seriously?" He scoffed. "Neal. Give me a break. You don't startle. "

"Sometimes I do," Neal answered. He paused, yearning to get back on the other subject and to close it out. "Peter, I get it, okay? I stayed home last night to adhere to your one block penalty, and you've already lectured me. Several times in fact. I hear you on your reasons, and I get it. I have a ton of paperwork to do. Which you'll probably also lecture me about not finishing. Are we done?"

Peter eyed him doubtfully. "So if I check your tracker, I'd see you stayed home last night?"

Neal's eyes narrowed slightly. "You didn't check already?"

"Should I check?"

Neal tilted his head and gave Peter a frustrated look. "Are you for real?" He was suddenly annoyed at himself for fearing to step outside the radius the previous night. Peter hadn't even checked? This whole stupid incident could have been avoided?

"I'm 'for real,' Neal," Peter said stiffly. "Should I check?"

"Go ahead," Neal responded, a hint of bitterness in his tone. "If that means we're done, and you'll let me get back to work, then by all means check."

Peter's brow furrowed as he continued to eye the younger man in front of him. "Or I could trust you, Neal..."

"Then trust away." Neal shifted back in his chair after the sarcastic remark, which he knew he should have swallowed back or at least toned down. "That's your prerogative."

"The attitude isn't necessary, Neal," Peter responded dryly. "Rather than a one-block radius, next time would you rather an alternative evening that includes an orange jumpsuit and a cell? I wouldn't have to check on anything then."

Neal bristled at the threat, jaw stiffening, but kept himself calm. He knew Peter was exaggerating with the threat, and it was always an easy card he could pull, but it still bothered him that he would have the power to do it if he chose. Rather than focus on that, Neal instead just shook his head and said coolly, "I told you there won't be a next time."

"No? Are you sure? Because something tells me you still haven't learned yet." Peter narrowed his eyes slightly. "So you want me to check your tracking data? I swear, Neal, if you didn't stay home…"

Neal sighed with obvious exasperation. "Obviously there are two equally likely scenarios, Peter. I either stayed in my generous one-block radius, so checking is a waste of your time, or I was within my normal radius, considering you weren't alerted otherwise, and successfully executed one of the most heinous acts of underground forgery and art trafficking that you could ever wrap your head around. Which one do you think summarizes last night accurately?" He didn't break eye contact as he spoke the words. "You've got a fifty-fifty shot of being right."

Peter didn't look impressed. "You done?" he asked with raised eyebrows. "Is this what we're going to do, Neal?"

Neal paused, regretting his series of quick statements. He was usually more calculated and controlled. He was way off script, and it was counterintuitive to his goal to move through this conversation quickly. Maybe it was the pain radiating from his ankle that was throwing him off of his usual game. "No, Peter… I'm sorry." He removed the earlier impudence from his tone. "To answer your question, I did stay home. You can check and that's what you'd see. Do you really think I wouldn't?"

Peter studied him, as though thinking. Neal didn't like the look on his face, because it was vague and one of the times he couldn't really read him. But he waited and didn't say anything else as the older man continued frowning at him.

"I'm glad you stayed home like I asked," Peter finally started to reply slowly. "And I won't check, because I am trusting you, Neal. But I need to know that you take it seriously… I can't have you be a liability, and if changing your radius doesn't seem serious enough to you to make you think, then I need to find another way to make you get it. Or else this doesn't work."

"I take it seriously," Neal interjected. The last thing he needed was Peter to devise another new form of consequence. "I get it," he asserted. Neal felt Peter was still looking at him strangely and suddenly felt uncomfortable. He found himself wishing he could go back to his desk. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Peter paused and then exhaled slowly. He shook his head slightly, as though thinking something over. "Because…" he said slowly. He then admitted, "El thinks maybe I don't always give you enough context. Hopefully now I have."

Neal raised his eyebrows, surprised at the comment. At the openness. This was as strange as the onset to this discussion. "Context?"

"On why I do things a certain way. Why I ask you to do things a certain way."

Neal dismissed the response, more focused on the other assertion behind the comment. "You talk about me with Elizabeth?"

"On occasion."

Neal reflected on that. "Am I like… your dinner conversation topic, or something?"

"Sometimes," Peter responded vaguely.

Neal paused, stomach churning just slightly. "Sometimes?" he echoed. "What does 'sometimes' mean? I don't think I like that answer."

"Well, too bad," Peter answered with a shrug. "When my wife asks what is stressing me out, I'm not going to lie to her. It's usually you."

"Me?" Frowning, Neal shifted again in his seat. In addition to the uncomfortable conversation, his ankle was throbbing. "That's not true, Peter. I don't stress you out."

Peter scoffed at that, letting out a low chuckle that made his shoulders shake and shaking his head. "Neal. You nearly got yourself shot yesterday. You do get that right? Or did I fail again at this conversation? So much for context."

"But I didn't get shot," Neal persisted earnestly.

"Nearly is a little too close in my book, and it should be in yours too," Peter responded, though his tone was softer. "As a general practice, we typically don't solve cases at the expense of safety… This is White Collar. You're more likely to get a papercut than shot. At least, that's what I tell El. Let's not make me a liar."

Neal didn't respond at first, more focused on the realization that Peter talked about him with his wife. He wondered what they talked about. How frequently? He would now have to see if he sensed anything different the next time he saw El. Any judgment. Did Peter only talk about when he messed up? Did El know whether Peter had second thoughts on their deal? In thinking about this, he grew distracted and began fiddling with the button on the cuff of his suit jacket.

"Neal," Peter said, breaking him from his thoughts.

Neal looked up as he cleared his throat. "I've got it, Peter," he spoke. "Safety. Procedure. No close calls. Papercuts only. All mentally noted…"

"Papercuts only," Peter muttered under his breath. He took a deep breath and then exhaled, shaking his head again as he got up from his spot on the desk and walked around the furniture to return to his own chair. He still seemed a little dissatisfied judging by the look on his face, but didn't say so. "Fine. I'm done, Neal. You can go back to your paperwork." He waved a hand towards the door dismissively. "I'll catch you up on the case a little later. I'm debriefing with Hughes in a few minutes."

As Neal rose from his own chair, he felt slightly mixed feelings. He wasn't completely confident that Peter and him were back on the same playing field as before, which he very much wanted. "Peter," he started, moving around his own chair to stand behind it, placing his hands against the top of it as he leaned forward slightly. He wanted the impact of the prior day to be a distant memory. He considered how to phrase his next question. "Are we… uh…"

"We're good, Neal." Peter looked up as he answered the unasked question. Studying him for a moment, he then added, "Neal, I'm past it." He paused. "As long as you understand what I told you and you can prove to me you can listen next time. I've told you before – I don't hold grudges. Just no dramatics today, alright?"

"Dramatics…" Neal slowly echoed the word. Peter's reassurance made him feel better, and he found himself more at ease as he tapped his fingers against the chair. "Sure thing, Peter. No dramatics. I'll cancel the order of dramatics I had scheduled for this afternoon right away. Lucky for me, I think there is free cancelation."

"Enough with the bullshit, Neal," Peter said as he shook his head, though he was starting to smirk.

"Not a chance of bullshit, Peter. Especially once I cancel the dramatics. Bullshit was an additional feature I had declined adding. I had good foresight I suppose."

"I said enough, Neal." Peter's tone grew firmer as he shot him a look, rolling his eyes. He pointed towards the doorway. "Go." It was obvious he was trying not to smile.

Neal smirked himself, letting out a small audible laugh. "Aye, aye, Captain," he answered with a sarcastic salute. He gave the man his classic grin and then turned to leave Peter's office, ignoring all the pain he felt in his ankle to force a normal paced walk down the stairs and back to his desk.

He hoped he could manage the rest of his day uninterrupted at his desk, but couldn't help but notice as he walked that the tracker felt even tighter than it had earlier.